


Rosie Watson-Holmes and the Untalented Prince

by emmiegrace



Series: The Adventures of Rosie Watson-Holmes [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Domestic, Family Drama, Gen, Kinda, Music, Post-Canon, Rosie is v talented, but also way too much like sherlock, mycroft is peeved, parenting, she insults royalty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-05-17 11:49:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14831753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmiegrace/pseuds/emmiegrace
Summary: Rosie is a lot like Sherlock- too much like him at times.





	Rosie Watson-Holmes and the Untalented Prince

When Rosie was three years old she started taking piano lessons. Sherlock informed her at the time that the violin was vastly superior though, so she allowed him to give her music lessons as well.

When she was six she saw a cello and is was _big_ violin so she begged her dad to get it for her and she learned it as well.

When she got into primary school they had a band but not an orchestra, so she learned the clarinet and the flute so that she’d have something to do during the school day that wasn’t _exceptionally_ boring.

Through band, she on two separate occasions had to teach herself an instrument in only a matter of hours to fill in for a student, and the saxophone and french horn joined her resume this way.

Somewhere along the way she’d acquired an oboe, and at one point a client gifted them with a harp so she picked those up as well.

Guitar and ukulele were easy enough to learn, and by the time she was nine years old, Rosie could play eleven instruments fluently (twelve if you counted the recorder- which she didn’t).

Needless to say, 221B was rarely ever quiet. Where Sherlock played as a sort of thinking technique, Rosie played like it was an addiction- her hands feeling idle if not making music.

A grand piano had replaced the table between the windows. She’d only asked for a _regular_ piano of course, but Sherlock found the idea abhorrent (“if you’re going to have a piano then you might as well have a proper one”), so the grand piano joined the sitting room furniture. Often it was covered in books and files despite being played daily. A keyboard sat as substitute upstairs in her bedroom among all her other instruments.

Often times Sherlock would join her in playing if her weapon of choice happened to be violin-friendly. The best times though were when they would both play their violins- dancing about the flat as they filled it with music.

On one of these occasions they were both in their dressing gowns (though Sherlock was fully dressed underneath, and Rosie still had on her pajamas despite it be being half noon). They twirled around each other, sharing slight smirks when their eyes met, as their bows glided upon the strings. John sat in his chair, flipping idly through a newspaper and hardly noticing the typical affair.

Mycroft entered before the end of _Pachelbel’s Canon_ , furrowing his brow at the scene. None of them took any notice of his presence, save for a disinterested glance from John. “Rosamund-” Mycroft started.

“Rosie!” She corrected, singing her name with the key as she spun around.

Mycroft cleared his throat, his jaw clenching a bit. “Yes, Rosie- actually could you stop playing for just a moment?”

Rosie sighed, rolling her eyes as she pulled her bow away at the end of the the phrase, Sherlock doing the same. She turned quickly to her piano though, sitting down and running her fingers along the keys in a short tune to get the unfinished song out of her ears. “What do you want, Mycroft?” She asked boredly as she did, not looking up to him.

“I’ve just gotten a call from your headmaster-”

John folded his paper loudly at that. “Why is it that he always calls you and not me?” He asked irritated.

Mycroft raised his brows at him. “Were you under the impression that it was your _blog_ that got your daughter into the best private school in the nation?”

Rosie bit back a snort at that. ‘Best private school in the nation’ was pushing it. It was just the school where all the politician’s kids and trust fund babies attended because it was safer- being that most of them had parents who received daily death threats. Criminals and terrorists had been threatening to kidnap her since before she could talk.

Just to be a dick she started playing the alma mater rather sarcastically, earning amused smirks from her dads, and a bored glare from Mycroft.

“He informed me,” Mycroft spoke over her playing, “about the incident in the music room.”

“Augh!” Rosie groaned, hitting a discordant note and standing up from her bench. “It’s not my fault that kid’s a massive-”

“Sorry, what happened?” John interrupted her expletive.

Rosie huffed, crossing her arms and grumbling as she marched into the kitchen. “It’s not even that bad-” She muttered.

“Not that bad?” Mycroft repeated incredulously. “You insulted the future King of England!”

“What?” John asked loudly, but Rosie slammed a cupboard closed angrily and spoke over him.

“It’s not my fault!” She shouted.

“You told him his playing sounded like, and I quote, ‘a massive elephant orgy in the middle of a nuclear bombing.’” Mycroft shot back dryly.

John balked while Sherlock utterly failed to conceal a snort of amusement. Rosie held her ground. “Well he did!” She insisted.

“That may very well be, but it is not _your_ place to tell him that, Rosamund.”

“ _Rosie_ .” She bit out through her teeth. “Everyone knows that _I_ use that music room during lunch hour.” She argued. “But then he went waltzing in there, sitting at _my_ piano like he was-”

“Royalty?” Mycroft cut her off smartly, and she glared at him. He let out a long-suffering sigh. “You cannot speak to the crown prince like that, Rosamund.”

“Why not?” She challenged, not bothering to correct her name this time.

“Because he’s the _prince_.” Mycroft repeated the statement, holding up his hand before she could argue further. “And I really don’t have time to argue class politics with you today, Rosamund. Perhaps another time?” Rosie glared at him, jaw clenching as she snapped her mouth shut. “I’ve promised your headmaster that you will be apologising to his majesty no later than tomorrow afternoon.” He went on.

Rosie made a noise of protest, but John spoke over her this time. “That sounds more than fair, Mycroft, thank you.” He said, his tone leaving no room for argument on Rosie’s part.

She muttered something under her breath, and stormed past Mycroft, picking up her violin with an angry flourish and marching up the stairs to her room. They heard her door slam, and then a dark angry melody begin on her violin.

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “She really is quite dramatic.”

Sherlock inhaled, standing up at that. “My job then?” He quipped quickly before following his daughter up the stairs.

Rosie dragged her bow discordantly across her violin upon Sherlock’s entrance. “Your brother is insufferable.” She said by way of greeting.

“Y’know legally he’s your uncle.” He replied boredly, flopping down on her bed, Rosie following suit next to him shortly after.

“Yeah well he’s also the British government- irritating and presumptuous.” She grumbled, earning a laugh from her father.

“For the record, I think what you said to the prince is quite frankly hilarious, and knowing you, probably true.”

Rosie wrinkled her nose at the memory. “It was.”

“But you should probably refrain from insulting any more of your schoolmates- royal or otherwise.”

Rosie scoffed. “Why? You tell people the truth all the time even though it’s mean.”

“Yes well people consider me to be rude and unpleasant.” He retorted dryly.

“Well people are dumb.” Rosie crossed her arms over her chest defiantly. “Why do they all want to be lied to all the time? Just to feel better?”

Sherlock shrugged- he was hardly the person to be asking questions about human nature, but maybe that was the point. “You don’t want to be like me.”

“Sure I do!” Rosie argued. “You’re the smartest detective in the whole world and you solve crimes and save lives.”

Sherlock smirked at her innocence. “It’s a lonely existence being the smartest person in the room.” He informed her.

She shook her head vehemently. “You’re not lonely. You have me and Daddy.”

“I got lucky.” He shot back. “And there was a long time before I met John that I didn’t have anybody. And you know what happens to smart people who don’t make friends?” He raised a brow at her, and she tilted her head curiously. “They become like Mycroft.” He said ominously.

Rosie’s eyes widened at that sudden realisation. “Yep okay. Point taken. I’ll play nice.” She said quickly.

Sherlock chuckled, sitting up to grab her discarded violin, and he started playing the opening notes to _God Save the Queen_. Rosie sighed, rolling her eyes and laughing a bit to herself as she pulled her cello towards her and joined in.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and Comments are much appreciated ;)


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